


Body Work

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blood, M/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream is awfully eager to pamper his leader.  Megatron suspects ulterior motives - but who says ulterior motives can't be fun sometimes?  Explicit sticky sex.  Warning for brief, consensual painplay, including blood/energon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Work

Megatron ex-vented heavily as he settled into the yielding mesh of the berth.  Hours of leading the Vehicons in sparring sessions had left his joints stiff and his struts aching, but done little to relieve the buzzing tension at the back of his helm.  Weeks had gone by without even a minor skirmish with the Autobots, and training was no substitute for true battle.

Well, he had exhausted his body, at least.  Perhaps a massage would quiet his mind.

At the first delicate touch of claw-tips on his back, Megatron turned his head to the side and dimmed his optics.  “ _Hard,_ Doctor.  I will not thank you for being gentle with me.”

“If you insist… _Master,_ ” a familiar voice purred behind him.

Megatron sat bolt upright.  Instead of Knock Out, it was Starscream standing over his berth, his fingers still poised in midair.

This was… new.

Massaging Decepticon soldiers’ injured or sore limbs was usually one of the medic’s duties, although when Soundwave could spare the time, he often obliged Megatron, as well.  That much made sense:  doctors knew where all the over-stressed wiring was, and one-time gladiators knew how to deliver the kind of pressure that heavily-armoured struts needed to relax; after all, they’d all taken care of their teammates that way in the Pits.  Starscream was neither.  Besides, Megatron had always assumed that if he’d suggested his second-in-command massage him, Starscream would have shrieked that he was the commander of the Armada, not Megatron’s private nurse.  And yet, here he was, armed with a bottle of joint lubricant, a towel, and the filthiest smile Megatron had ever seen.

Narrowing his optics, Megatron slowly ran his gaze down his second-in-command, from eagerly fluttering wingtips to the exquisite arch of those heels, even higher now as Starscream practically bounced on his toes with suspicious enthusiasm.  “Very well,” he said after a moment.  “But, Starscream…”

“My lord?”

“Do make this worth my time.  I shall be displeased if I have to ask Soundwave to finish for you.”  Megatron lay back down, turning away from Starscream to hide his smirk at the flash of outrage in Starscream’s optics.

Starscream’s hands slapped down on Megatron’s back a little harder than strictly necessary, but quickly turned light and soothing, rubbing the warm lubricant into the seams where silver curves of armour met the purple plating underneath.  Megatron squirmed.  Starscream’s touches weren’t as firm as he would have liked, but they were precise, finding and smoothing hidden wires in ways that made him vent sharply, as trapped packets of charge abruptly dissipated into the air.  As they went, those claws flicked loose tiny bits of gravel and dust, the detritus of this strange, unclean world.  Not just massaging, Megatron realised, but preening him, the way seekers preened one another’s wings.  Knuckles grazed over a cluster of sensor nodes at the small of his back, and Megatron grunted.  Starscream chuckled softly.

The warm slide of Starscream’s hands was undeniably pleasant, but as it continued, Megatron could feel himself getting restless.  Those light caresses were starting to seem ticklish and frustrating.  He made to rise, only to find Starscream’s hands shoving him back down.

Megatron growled a warning.

“Patience, lord.”  But Starscream did take his hands off his master’s back.  “Should I continue?”

There was a smug certainty underlying the concern in his voice, and for that alone, Megatron was tempted to deny him – to pull the rug out from beneath his pride by sending him away, and summoning Soundwave in his place.  But… Starscream _had_ come here on his own initiative, and Megatron was reluctant to discourage him.  Besides, while not exactly what he needed, Starscream’s idea of a massage was still pleasurable in its own way.

Megatron resettled himself, and made a bored circle in the air with his claws to tell Starscream to keep going.

He had expected those too-sweet, feather-light touches to continue, and so he tensed on instinct when both of Starscream’s hands slammed into the small of his back, the heels of his palms digging hard into the plating.  The seeker held for a long moment, until Megatron’s taut circuitry began to relax, inch by inch, under the pressure.  And then he felt Starscream shift, his hands sliding forward, scraping a rough trail up his spinal strut.  A blunter, heavier warmth settled over his hips:  Starscream’s knees, he realised.  The seeker was crouched on his back, putting the whole of his weight into his strokes.  Megatron’s tension was finally bleeding away under the more forceful pressure, and he purred his engine quietly.  It felt so good that he almost protested when Starscream took his hands away, then rose off his knees…

… _oh._

The elaborately crafted prongs of Starscream’s heels dug in beneath Megatron’s armour, pushing at a particularly stubborn knot.  It hurt – it hurt _deliciously,_ as the knot gave way and Starscream began to walk up the curve of Megatron’s back, placing his feet with all the calculated delicacy of one of Vos’s aerial dancers before the war.  Megatron’s startled ex-vent turned into a low hum of approval.

“So tense, my master,” Starscream whispered, stooping so that his lips were close to Megatron’s audial, even as his heel kneaded the stiff circuitry of the warlord’s shoulder.  “Clearly, Soundwave and our dear doctor don’t know how to look after you the way I do.”

Megatron privately rolled his optics, but he had to admit that Starscream had a point.  Those sharp heels were hammering out deep-seated aches that even the most skilled hands weren’t strong enough to reach.  He could feel his body melting into the berth, joints loosening, feeling supple and powerful again.

By the time Starscream had worked every inch of his back, Megatron was practically in recharge.  It surprised him to feel a tug on his shoulder.  “Over, Lord Megatron.”

Bemused, Megatron obliged, lounging on his back and lifting an eyebrow at Starscream.  He was expecting the seeker to start walking up and down again, but Starscream went to his knees instead, bracing against Megatron’s abdomen as he slowly kneaded his fists along the joins in the armour.  There was less soreness here, so the slightly softer touches made sense, and the view was delicious:  the curve of Starscream’s back undulating with his movements, his legs spread so wide that he was practically straddling Megatron, that shapely aft bobbing in the air as he worked.  Megatron’s optics dimmed, and he settled in to enjoy the show.

Until Starscream’s clawtips raked almost casually over his panel, and Megatron realised that the show in question was intended to be audience participation.  He jolted at the touch, a familiar spark of arousal starting to travel down his languid frame.

Starscream clucked his glossa, barely suppressing a smile.  “Ah-ah.  We can’t have you tensing up again, master.  It seems there are still a few _hard_ knots I need to work on.”  With his typical grace, Starscream dropped back on his elbows and slid backwards until he was reclining on his master’s thigh, stretching those long legs out in front of him.  One hooked lazily over Megatron’s hip, while the other bent so that his foot was resting on Megatron’s rapidly-heating panel.  The foot rocked forward, then back, and the slight sting of Starscream’s heel made Megatron hiss.  Starscream was watching him hungrily.

Faster than his second-in-command could anticipate, Megatron snaked one arm out and caught Starscream by the ankle, earning a startled squeak.  “Oh, but surely you could use some attention yourself, Starscream.  I’m certain that you have some tight spots that could stand to be pounded out.”  Starscream shot him a disdainful smirk, and opened his mouth to speak, but broke off and flushed at the sudden whine of his own cooling fans kicking into high gear.  Megatron grinned.

Huffing, Starscream pushed his leg further into Megatron’s grip, so that those razor-sharp talons glided along the pristine silver paintwork, peeling it off in delicate curlicues of living metal.  Starscream bit his lip and shoved harder; Megatron’s claws bit deeper in retaliation.  Tiny drops of energon began to form along the neat scratches, the faint blue glow of them holding both mechs transfixed.

With every bit as much precision as Starscream had used in preening his armour, Megatron dragged his clawtips up to Starscream’s thigh, tracing the invisible paths of sensor arrays he knew well, after all these years.  Starscream’s body responded instantly, his cockpit arching up towards Megatron and his head tipping back, even as he shifted his hips closer to his master’s touch.

Well, every mech had their own methods of relaxing.

Tightening his grip slightly on Starscream’s thigh, Megatron raised his other hand to caress the Decepticon emblem being so eagerly thrust towards him – first with his claws, then, leaning in, with teeth and glossa.  Starscream moaned under him, and Megatron’s engines rumbled as he nipped and licked at his second’s abdomen.

It was clear from the speed with which Starscream’s panel snapped back, and the gush of lubricant that spattered over Megatron’s thigh when it did, that the massage had left Starscream even needier than it had Megatron.  Pleased, Megatron shifted them both so that he was looming over the seeker, and, bracing himself with one arm, he pushed a thick claw into that dripping valve.  And then a second.  Starscream planted his feet on the berth and shoved his hips upwards, growling in frustration.

“Oh, _now_ you lose your patience for teasing.”

“Please, master,” Starscream gasped.  “I need you to fill me, I need –”

“Mmmmm.”  Megatron leaned in to kiss Starscream hard, then broke off and sat back on his heels, opening his own panel.  “I know you do.  And as it so happens, I’m in a mood to reward you.”  Megatron’s spike pressurised, and Starscream gave a staticky moan that sounded almost like relief.  He drew his foot up Megatron’s thigh and ran it lightly along the edge of the spike.  The faint touch made Megatron’s spike twitch, in something that was almost like pain, and yet a thousand miles from it.

Tugging his fingers none too gently out of Starscream’s valve, Megatron slid them into the seeker’s mouth instead, nicking his lower lip with one claw.  His engines roared at the sight:  Starscream on his back, optics half-lidded, sucking his own lubricant and energon off Megatron’s talons, while one elegant foot stroked the heavy ridges of Megatron’s spike.  Every time Starscream flexed his leg, Megatron got a brief glimpse of that glistening valve, all but begging for him.

Unable to wait any longer, Megatron pinned his second effortlessly and thrust inside him, shoving both spike and fingers deep.  Starscream gave a choked, urgent groan, and wrapped his legs around Megatron’s waist, feet locked at the small of his back, heels digging in to urge him on.  Megatron set a fast pace, pounding into the wet, willing valve beneath him, as Starscream’s claws left deep grooves in the berth, his own thighs, Megatron’s arms – anything within reach as the seeker writhed uncontrollably.  All too soon, Starscream was pulling Megatron’s fingers away from his mouth and shrieking in overload, his valve clenching down hard; Megatron followed soon after, snarling and biting down on Starscream’s neck cabling.  He slowly slid free, letting his transfluid spill out of Starscream to pool on the berth underneath them.

For a long moment, Megatron stayed on all fours, his hands splayed on either side of his lolling, panting second-in-command.  Every circuit in Megatron’s frame felt gloriously warm, strong and sated and _alive._

Knock Out and Soundwave still delivered most of Megatron’s massages after that, but the Decepticon leader never again questioned when Starscream showed up on his doorstep with a towel and a bottle of oil.


End file.
